


Putting Down Roots

by this_is_not_nothing



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domestic Fluff, It's Just Super Soft, M/M, Pouty Patrick, and patrick is not having a good time gardening, david just loves patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24263344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing
Summary: Patrick plants a garden, wears jorts and pouts a lot. David loves him.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 108
Kudos: 346





	Putting Down Roots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonlali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonlali/gifts).



> Thanks to [thegrayness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrayness/pseuds/thegrayness) and [popfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly) for the validation and cheerleading and excessive hand-holding. Also thanks to Gray for the beta and _extra_ re-read on top of all that and Liz for the title✨✨
> 
> for more on dulce, [read this great fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23555587)

Patrick sighs for the third time from his end of the sofa, squinting at his laptop and rubbing the back of his neck. David wiggles his toes under Patrick’s thighs and sets down his book.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He asks gently, reaching over to rub Patrick’s shoulder lightly.

“I just—Gwen made starting a garden sound so easy. And Ronnie’s always giving out armfuls of zucchinis and she’s about as nurturing as your mother.” 

“Well, I’d like to think Alexis and I are proof that you can thrive with or without—”

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t—I didn’t mean that. Not that way. I love your— _ our  _ family.”

“So why don’t you tell me what’s really wrong?”

“I don’t know where to start.” Patrick’s face goes full pout. David knows there’s nothing his husband hates more than feeling uncertain.

“Okay, well first off, we don’t  _ need _ a garden. We don’t need to add stress to our lives.”

“I know but—I always sort of envisioned I'd be the kind of person who had one. And we have such a big yard. Plus I know how much you like Caprese salad.” Patrick sort of mumbles the last part and David can’t help but smile. It’s just  _ so _ Patrick. 

David launches into his well-worn ode to the perfect salad, happy to perform his half of the dance. “Well, it’s a perfect food! There’s cheese and the tomatoes are a little sweet and a little acidic and you don’t have to cook anything and it’s  _ basically _ a whole meal if you have bread with it.” 

Patrick’s face is soft, his brow smoothing out as he laughs at David’s defense of tomatoes and mozzarella as if he’s hearing it for the first time, not the nineteenth. “Okay, David.”

“So, let’s start with tomatoes. And basil. And zucchini, since Gwen and Ronnie said that was easy. Was there anything else that caught your eye?”

“Carrots. And maybe cucumbers.”

“Sounds like we have a plan then.”

Patrick nods and puts his laptop away before climbing onto David’s lap. He presses a soft kiss to David’s mouth. “I’ll start researching what I need to order tomorrow—let’s go to bed.”

**

The next weekend, Patrick returns from his errand loop looking especially pleased. David angles his face up for a kiss hello as he sets his book down next to him on the sofa—he knows Patrick will want to regale him with a perfect and mundane story that David will listen to and  _ mmm _ his way through, a little bored, but there’s no one he’d rather be a little bored by.

“I swung by the nursery in Elmdale and I have a much better sense how to get our garden off the ground.”

“Did you—was that a pun?”

“A happy accident.” Patrick laughs as he moves David’s feet so he can sit down.

“Would we call that happy—or an accident for that matter?” David teases back.

“So I just need to build some raised beds, which shouldn’t be hard, and I bought a bunch of heirloom seeds and next week the soil I special-ordered will be in, so I’ll have to borrow Roland’s truck and—”

“This sounds expensive, should I be worried about my sweater budget?” David wants to be supportive, but there  _ are  _ limits.

Patrick laughs again, shaking his head a little this time. “I think we can swing it. We’ll just have to cut back on pizza.”

David opens his mouth to protest, but then Patrick’s kissing him soundly. When he pulls back, he’s a little flushed and David’s a little breathless. 

“So tell me more about these seeds.” David gives a little shimmy, as best as he can manage reclined like this, before adding, “You were joking about the pizza though right?”

“Yes, I was joking about the pizza. We can figure it out, I’m gonna look at my spreadsheet later.”

“Oooooooh, your spreadsheet. Go ahead then, tell me about the seeds.” Patrick is practically vibrating, he's so excited. 

“I got everything we talked about—carrots, tomatoes, zucchini, cucumbers and basil.” David nods along, His  _ husband  _ is so cute, David didn’t know it was possible to love one person so much, nerdy hobbies and all. “Plus I got  _ Blondkopfchen _ , which are yellow heirloom cherry tomatoes.”

“Ooh, those sound cute. A little pop of color. For our Caprese.” They grin at each other, and David can’t help but think for the thousandth time since that day in the front yard, before it was theirs, Patrick makes him really fucking happy.

**

David magnanimously agrees to go with Patrick to pick up the fancy dirt he insists he needs. Plus, Ronnie confirmed over lunch the other day that the fancy dirt was both necessary  _ and  _ a two-person job, and Patrick bribed him with Thai takeout for dinner. He promised David he could pick the whole order, which meant red curry—and not Patrick’s preferred green—and pad kee mao and spring rolls and chicken satays and papaya salad and Patrick wasn’t going to say a  _ single  _ word about the quantity. David was sure they would be starving after moving dirt around on purpose. 

Which has all led to David, in a Rick Owens shirt he never liked, riding in the cab of Roland’s truck for the second time in his life, this time the sun in the sky and his eyes dry. David reaches over to rest his hand on Patrick’s leg, grateful for his failed attempt at fleeing, and to this town for offering him more happiness than he ever thought he’d get to have. 

David indulges in a pick-up truck owning fantasy, maybe an old 1950s Ford, with a bench seat big enough for them to lay down across, and laments both the lack of bench seat and the inherent  _ Roland-ness  _ of this truck, keeping his thoughts firmly in the fantasy camp.

They pull into the nursery parking lot and Patrick practically ejects his jorts clad body from the truck. David follows, at a much more reasonable pace as his husband scampers over to the nearest employee. By the time David joins them, a hand truck has been procured and he’s concerned about what he’s agreed to help with.

Patrick lays on a hand on David’s shoulder. “Derek, this is my husband, David.” David notes both the pride in Patrick’s voice and the surprise in Derek’s eyes. 

“Yes, hi. That’s me.” David leans into Patrick’s hand a little. “We’re here for the  _ topsoil _ .” David has listened to Patrick explain the merits of this particular blend over dinner three nights in a row and when he brought it up in bed last night, David slid under the covers until all Patrick could say was  _ David. _

“Yup, got Pat’s order right over here. Shall we gents?” Derek leads them toward a corner of the nursery. David decides right then that they will also be ordering curry puffs, his reward for enduring that terrible nickname and the  _ gents. _

“We  _ shall, _ ” David replies, aiming for his best customer service voice, but it’s too early to keep the sarcasm out and Patrick rubs his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. 

It doesn’t take them very long to load the truck, and Patrick’s shirt stretches very nicely across his shoulders as he finishes arranging everything in the bed, but David is acutely aware that they don’t have a hand truck at home, and their yard is very spacious.

They don’t make it far before Patrick is parking again, this time in front of the bakery David loves. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” 

“Can you get me a jelly doughnut? And if they have—” Patrick leans over to cut David off with a quick kiss before jumping out. David watches him walk into the bakery, hating how good Patrick makes jorts look. Patrick walks back out just a few minutes later, with a  _ big  _ bakery box, much to David’s relief. 

David goes to open the box, and Patrick smacks his hand away. “That’s our reward for unloading the truck.” 

“More like an insurance policy that I help you.”

“Both. It can be both.” Patrick reaches over the box and gives David’s thigh a squeeze, before starting the engine. “Let’s go home, David.”

It takes them approximately 400 complaints, two bottles of water, and more sweat than David thought possible to empty the truck, but all of Patrick’s  _ precious  _ dirt is finally sitting at the garden’s perimeter.

David flops down on the outdoor sofa, dramatically touching the back of his hand to his forehead, and huffs out a sigh. His water and promised baked goods are taunting him from the house, but he’s not sure he can move. The last time he exerted himself this much for something other than sex was carrying Patrick up a mountain—and so far this garden hasn’t pledged its undying love.

Patrick comes out of the house then, with the bakery box and big glass of water and David grins. “Love of my life.”

“Me, or the doughnut?” Patrick does his teasing smile, where his ears betray his amusement.

“Both, it can be both.” David parrots Patrick’s earlier words back to him before grabbing the box.

He takes a bite of the doughnut and angles his face up for a kiss, which Patrick happily delivers, swiping his tongue quickly across David’s sugary lips.

“Definitely both,” David affirms as he takes another bite of doughnut.

**

David isn’t sure if he’s awake or asleep. He’s vaguely aware of Patrick’s arms around him, and he’s trying to resist peeking at the clock. He looked at 2:30, and 3:45, and then  _ again  _ at 6:00. It’s like Schroedinger’s sleep, and as long as his eyes are closed and he’s in bed with Patrick he can count this as sleep. Five minutes or an hour later, David feels Patrick pressing soft kisses right above his collar. 

David wiggles back into Patrick. If he can’t be asleep, at least he can be kissed and cuddled. Patrick takes the hint and slides his hand under David’s shirt, lightly rubbing his stomach. David always finds this soothing, both the way it feels, and trusting someone enough to touch him there. “You’re up early,” Patrick murmurs into David’s neck, trailing more kisses across his skin.

David croaks out a noise, weak and disgruntled and tired sounding. His eyes feel like they’re full of sand and he wants this day to be over already.

“Oh no, didn’t sleep well?” Patrick wiggles them closer together. “We can stay in bed then.”

“Mmm. Supposed to watch you plant today.” Patrick’s been looking forward to this all week, and is probably well-rested and ready to jump out of bed and into his gardening jorts, which are even more frayed and dirty since the great soil procurement. 

“Watch? Thought you were helping,” Patrick teases.

“Patrick.” David means it to sound like a glare, or a warning, but it comes out like a whisper.

“Shh. I know.” Patrick slides his hand up David’s chest and rests it there, smoothing his thumb back and forth so softly. David focuses on the sweep of Patrick’s thumb, his even breathing against David’s neck, his warm solid presence.

David wakes up, surprised to find he actually did fall asleep. Patrick’s side of the bed is empty and when he pries an eye open, he finds it’s nearly 11. He stretches out, ignoring the weird click his ankle makes he flexes it. He doesn’t really want to get out of bed, but downstairs has coffee—and more importantly Patrick—and David doesn’t want to spend the whole day apart.

David pads downstairs on autopilot and is relieved to find a pot of coffee waiting for him. He pours himself a cup, into the mug Patrick left out for him. He walks out on the porch and settles on the couch to watch Patrick work. 

Patrick is in a pair of jorts, sadly the less fitted pair. David winces when he realizes Patrick has  _ two  _ pairs, and he has an actual  _ preference  _ for one of them. Patrick’s white t-shirt is just a little snug and blinding white in the sun. Usually, Patrick puts on a little bit of show for David, bending over deliberately and such, which is very hot, but this is somehow—getting to watch Patrick when he thinks he’s alone is almost better. Patrick moves with the sure efficiency he always does and like always, David can’t look away.

Patrick is concentrating so hard and his Blue Jays baseball hat is slightly askew and he’s using the little shovel to dig holes in what David is sure are precisely measured intervals. It’s so  _ Patrick _ , and David is tempted to walk across the yard to kiss him, but he’s not wearing shoes. The potential for bugs to touch his bare skin is too high, so David settles for calling to his husband, croaking out a  _ good morning.  _

Patrick looks over and his face lights up. He tosses down his shovel and practically jogs over to David. David knows what’s coming, and sets down his coffee. He knows Patrick is going to kiss him, even though he’s sweaty and covered in a fine layer of dirt. 

Patrick leans over to kiss him, like they’ve been apart for days or weeks, not hours. David surprises both of them by pulling a very dirty Patrick into his lap, his need for Patrick greater than his concern for filth.

“Mm. Missed waking up with you,” David murmurs against Patrick’s mouth.

“Feeling any better?” Patrick doesn’t give him a chance to answer, just kisses him again, slow and soft, like he knows David is still feeling a little delicate. Eventually, he pulls back to let David answer.

“A little. Still really tired. I don’t know. More kisses please.” David tilts his head, and then Patrick’s kissing him again, kissing him awake, all lips and teasing tongue, making David feel loved and lucky. This time when he pulls back, David’s more than just a little breathless.

“We’ll go to bed early tonight, okay?” Patrick drops a kiss to David’s forehead. 

He’s looking very pink, and it might be from the kissing but David can’t help but ask. “Do you have sunscreen on?”

“I do—but I should probably reapply.”

“Make sure you get—” David starts.

“My ears and the back of my neck. Yes, David.” Patrick’s tone is aiming for exasperated, but David knows he loves being doted on and cared for.

David watches as Patrick hastily reapplies the Rose Apothecary sunscreen they keep out here for this exact reason. “How’s the planting going?” 

“Not bad. I really just started. I  _ may _ have gone to the bakery first. Didn't you see the box?”

“I—no. Clearly I would be  _ eating _ .” 

Patrick laughs. “Okay, you make a good point. I got one row of carrots planted, so that feels good. Can’t wait til we can cook with food I grew. ”

“How long do carrots take?” David asks because it’s the  _ nice  _ thing to do, and Patrick got him pastries, which means David has a reward for listening to Patrick’s dissertation on root vegetables and bespoke Canadian soil.

David  _ mmms  _ in what he hopes are all the right places until Patrick is wrapping up. David still has no idea when the carrots will come to fruition, but he nods enthusiastically when Patrick offers to go in and get him a pain au chocolat. 

When Patrick returns with David’s book and the promised pastry, David settles in. There’s something wildly indulgent about being outside in his pajamas, feeling comfy and unjudged. He looks up every few pages—he can’t help but watch Patrick. David usually mocks the jorts, yes, but Patrick makes them work. Patrick makes a lot of things work for David. His hat is off-kilter in a very cute way and David is sure when Patrick comes back over, his white t-shirt will be slightly translucent with sweat, and that will  _ definitely _ work for David, too.

A few chapters and a lot of ogling later, Patrick’s casting a shadow over the pages of David’s book. “I think I’m all done.” He beams, he’s so proud of himself. David really hopes this garden is a success.

“Good work, honey.” 

“I was thinking about showering, and I was thinking you could join me.” Patrick plucks the book from David’s hands and sets it down on the couch, offering his hand to David.

“Well—that would certainly be efficient, since I haven't showered yet today.” David smirks as he takes Patrick’s hand, following him into their house, their shower and finally their bed.

**

David wakes up alone  _ again _ , for what feels like the thousandth time this month. When Patrick embarked on this journey, David wasn’t expecting he’d be constantly abandoned in the mornings. Patrick insisted it was important that he water the plants before they went to work, that it was vital to the process. 

At this point, no vegetable is worth it. David would consider giving up  _ carbs _ if it meant he could have his husband next to him every morning. He doesn’t even  _ like  _ carrots that much.

He  _ hmphs _ dramatically into the empty room and rolls over onto Patrick’s pillow to console himself. If he stays like this long enough, he knows Patrick will bring him a perfect cup of coffee and kiss him good morning, in an attempt to get him out of bed. 

A few minutes later, David pops his head up at the sounds of Patrick whistling, like his own sexy and sarcastic Jiminy Cricket. “Good morning. Everything’s looking really good. There’s like  _ five _ new leaves.” Patrick’s tone is almost reverent and David ducks back under the covers so Patrick can’t see him laugh. “Gonna have to come out if you want your coffee.”

David takes a breath to recompose his face, and wiggles up in the bed. “Kiss please,” David demands as he takes his coffee.

Patrick presses a few quick kisses to David’s lips and a final one to his forehead. “I’m gonna go in the shower while you caffeinate.”

David takes a sip of his coffee and hums appreciatively. “Good job on the leaves, honey.”

Patrick nods, pleased and proud. “Feeling good, I think I’ve got this under control. All that research paid off.”

David uses the mug to hide his smile, Patrick loves when things go according to plan. “You are  _ very  _ good at the research.”

Patrick flushes at the compliment and David angles his head up for another kiss, which Patrick obligingly gives. “Okay, really going in the shower now.”

**

Weeks pass and David eventually gets used to waking up alone—much to his dismay. What’s the point of enduring someone’s piles of mail and socks and insufficient post-teeth-brushing sink rinsing, if you’re not waking up to gentle kisses while wrapped in strong arms? Patrick’s been looking a little less proud and a little less pleased this week, which is frustrating because what are they  _ doing _ if neither one of them is happy?

David relocates to Patrick's side of the bed while he waits for his coffee, scrolling through his phone and debating if he wants to try to convince Patrick to open late.

Patrick walks in carrying David’s coffee, looking particularly dejected.

David makes grabby hands for the coffee, sighing happily when Patrick gives it to him. “What’s wrong?” He asks because Patrick looks very pathetic. His lower lip is jutting out, practically trembling with disappointment.

“It’s just—still  _ nothing.  _ It’s been a month—according to my spreadsheet there should be more sprouts and signs of life. And instead, it’s like watching paint dry—or worse it’s like that time we tried to make pizza at home—”

“Come back to bed,” David cuts him off. He does  _ not _ need to relive the still-fresh sting of that failure. David flips the blankets back and sets down his coffee.

Much to David’s surprise, Patrick does. He crawls into bed, in his outside clothes—so  _ apparently _ they’re changing the sheets—and snuggles into David’s side. David wraps Patrick up in his arms, running his hand across the back of Patrick’s head.

“Remember the first time I made us lasagna? At the apartment?” Patrick nods and burrows a little more into David’s side, pressing a kiss to his neck. 

“So I  _ might  _ have needed to FaceTime your dad, because I was… slightly concerned about how much ricotta to put. And he told me that the best part of cooking was the process, and worst case we could order pizza. So like—we sell very nice vegetables! We have access. You should enjoy your quiet outside time each day.” David keeps gently stroking at Patrick’s neck, feeling him melt into David.

“Yeah—I just… ” David knows Patrick was about to explain why he wants it to be working, and waits while Patrick  _ really  _ hears what he said. 

“I know.” David drops a kiss to the top of Patrick’s head. “It’s okay though. You’re trying something new.”

Patrick hums begrudgingly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Do you want me to shower first?” David offers, knowing being late to work will only annoy Patrick more. He’s a punctual person, much to David's constant chagrin.

“No. Just want to stay here for a minute.” Patrick murmurs against David’s neck. 

David smiles into Patrick’s hair. “We can do that.” 

**

Ronnie walks into the store a little before lunch. “You got time for lunch today David? Lena wants to redo their bathroom—and since you helped on the kitchen for them, thought maybe you could consult again.”

David nods. “That—god, that bathroom was so awful, knowing it had to share a house with our perfect kitchen was upsetting.”

David turns to Patrick. “Do you mind? I can bring you back something?” 

Patrick’s face is carefully neutral but David knows he’s not thrilled. The money David makes consulting for Ronnie offsets the slow months, which only somehow fuels their—whatever this dumb thing is between them is. “Of course. See you in an hour.” 

David gives Patrick a kiss and runs his hands over his shoulders a few times, trying to reassure him wordlessly before following Ronnie out the door. 

“So tell me about their vision,” David says as they wait for their food.

“Luminous and clean. Modern but not too modern. What does that even mean?” Ronnie rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, we can absolutely work with that,” David snaps back. 

Ronnie rolls her eyes again, this time at David. “I don’t speak wishy-washy rich person.”

“Well, that’s why you pay me.” David eyes her french fries and misses Patrick. Patrick always shares his fries. David should have ordered his own, now he has to wait until he brings Patrick lunch.

“What’s the timeline for this?” He asks.

“Well, I told them we could start in two weeks, and it’ll take about six weeks start to finish. So I’ll need your sketches early next week, so we can get approval. Then we need to find fixtures and tile that fit your vision and my budget the week after. Is that doable?”

“I suppose. It’s a little rushed, settling on a color palette takes time.” David smirks. They both know he’s had this whole thing planned out in his head since the first time they were in that house to do the kitchen. “So, how are things going with the  _ florist _ ?” David sends an eyebrow up. Ronnie’s been seeing her on and off for almost a year—on when they have time, off when one or both is busy with work. 

“Well. I haven’t been to the Wobbly Elm in six months.” Ronnie gives him a shrug and shoves a french fry in her mouth. 

“But who’s helping Bob meet hot single women?” David laughs. When Ronnie had recounted that night to him, he didn’t believe her at first.

“There’s a wine bar in Elmdale we like. Maybe if your husband had a personality we could all go out together.” 

“Mmm, well considering how questionable your taste is, I’ll keep the husband and skip the wine bar.”

Ronnie laughs. “Touché. The wine bar is great though.”

“We’ve actually been there. We had wine and cheese there a few weeks ago. There was a manchego that I thought Patrick was going to open up our marriage for.”

“Oh, that  _ is  _ good. Might be worth considering.” Ronnie arches an eyebrow at him.

“Who’s to say I didn’t? You know—it’s not a bad idea, going on a  _ double date _ .” David shimmies as he says it and it’s worth it to see Ronnie twitch with barely suppressed laughter. “I could finally get to know Dulce and—you and Patrick could talk about gardening and baseball and that manchego. You’re practically the same person.” The look of distaste that flies across Ronnie’s face is so perfect, David wishes he could take a picture. “Actually. Any tips for that? And no thumb comments, thanks so much.”

Ronnie laughs and launches into an explanation of some fertilizing schedule. David was joking when he made the comparison between her and Patrick… but there might be something to it. David tries to follow along, enough so he can at least try to pass this along to Patrick later as something he read on the internet.

Twyla stops by the table, thankfully cutting Ronnie off. David gets enough of this talk at home. He orders Patrick's tuna melt and fries and turns back to Ronnie.

“Oh. I guess—what’s the budget for this project?” Apparently this kind of concern is a side effect of being married to a  _ numbers _ guy.

“Like you’re gonna stick to it.” 

“I do my best work when I’m pointedly ignoring a budget. Look at the store,” David jokes, not that Ronnie knows but he actually sticks fairly close to Patrick’s budget for the store, mostly because Patrick’s face goes pleased and soft whenever David does.

“Well considering you convinced her to spend two thousand dollars on a farmhouse sink for that kitchen, I’m not sure the budget matters, but I told her about four thousand for tiles and fixtures. Went a little high, since I knew you’d be working on this.”

David hums appreciatively. “That seems—surprisingly reasonable.”

Twyla drops off Patrick’s food, so David steals a few fries for quality control and closes the box back up. 

“Okay—get that over to  _ him.  _ The only thing worse than a tuna melt is a cold tuna melt. Let me know when you’re ready to meet and go over the designs.”

“Sounds good, I’ll work on it Sunday, so let’s have lunch again Monday.” David gives Ronnie a little wave as he slides out of the booth and heads back to Patrick.

**

David walks into the house and sets down an armful of library books on their kitchen island, like he’s Adele with the Grammy’s—but literary. He had brunch with Stevie in Elmdale and then stopped to pick up the books he’d put on hold. Patrick is stirring a pot of sauce that smells so good David thinks he would propose if they weren’t already married.

“That smells so—” He starts, but Patrick sets the spoon down and throws himself into David’s arms. 

“Missed you,” Patrick murmurs it into David’s neck, lightly kissing him there.

“I was gone for less than 3 hours. Stevie says hi by the way.”

“I feel like I’ve hardly seen you this week? You keep leaving me to go eat with other people,” Patrick whines.

“Well, at least you don’t have to wake up alone  _ every  _ single day.” 

Patrick pulls back a little, and looks at David closely. “Well, I am bringing you coffee in bed—that has to count for something?”

“I’d rather have you,” David admits, watching Patrick’s face go soft and fond. David leans in and kisses him, trying to make him feel as loved as he makes David feel all the time.

Patrick pulls back, flushed. “Well, perhaps we can revisit the watering schedule.”

“No! This is important to you—it’s… I’ll make it through. Well, I mean. Maybe one day a week? That might be a good compromise.”

“Ah yes, compromise. Your favorite.”

“Someone I used to date taught me about it.”

“Used to date?” Patrick raises an eyebrow, which David is pretty sure he can only tell because they are standing so close.

“Can you believe?” David drops his voice low before continuing, “I actually ended up marrying him. Talk about  _ compromise _ .” David presses his lips together, trying not to laugh.

Patrick throws his head back and laughs, really laughs, and David makes a small pleased sound before he gives in and bursts out laughing, too.

Later that night, after dinner and clean-up and skincare, David settles next to Patrick in bed. Patrick’s reading one of his true crime novels, in a navy t-shirt, his face freshly washed, looking utterly perfect. David wiggles his way under Patrick’s arm so he can see the pages too, only to find his husband is reading  _ another _ book about the Golden State Killer. Sometimes David stays tucked in and will read along for a bit, but there cannot be any info left that Patrick hasn’t told him. David drops a kiss to Patrick’s chest before shifting back to his side and grabbing a book from his library haul.

Patrick laughs. “Not feeling my literature choices tonight, David?”

“Literature. Not sure that’s the correct term,” David shoots back, grabbing the gardening book he checked out from his pile. His conversation with Ronnie, and her subsequent texts showing off how tall her tomato plants are, made David realize it might be time for him to gently intervene. Historically, things go better when they work together, so David is going to try to do a little research—see if he can nonchalantly suggest something.

David flips to the troubleshooting chapter since it’s too late to change where it’s planted. It looks like Ronnie might be right—Patrick should be using fertilizer. The book so far has no mentions of the crystals Twyla was telling him about when he picked up their coffee the other day.

“Have you—are you. Using fertilizer? You know, in the garden?”

Patrick sets his book down on his chest and looks at David suspiciously. “Did Ronnie put you up to this?”

“What! No. It’s in the book.” David holds up the book as proof, glad he knows Patrick well enough to have a tangible non-arch-enemy source.

“Why do you have a book?” Okay, maybe the plan is backfiring. Patrick somehow looks  _ more _ suspicious.

“I just wanted to help you. You’re so stressed lately. It’s supposed to be fun.” David figures this is the  _ truth _ but omits that Ronnie started him down this particular path.

“Oh—oh.” Patrick’s face goes open and relaxed. “That’s really nice.”

“Yes, sometimes I can be nice,” David sasses back, in a not-very-nice tone, but he knows his smile is giving away the game.

“Okay. Tell me more.” Patrick snuggles into David’s side this time as David begins to read about fertilizer, which is definitely the weirdest foreplay their marriage has seen so far, but David wouldn’t change it for anything.

**

Despite the fertilizer, David finds himself being served coffee by an increasingly pouty Patrick over the course of the next week. He’s  _ very _ dejected and David doesn't really wake up with the kind of energy required to deal with that. They end up opening the store almost fifteen minutes late one morning because it takes David that long to convince Patrick to face the day. David is usually the more fragile party in their marriage, the one more likely to need smelling salts or a glass of orange juice, and it’s disconcerting to be on the other side of the equation.

On Sunday, when David heads downstairs, he spies Patrick just sitting in the grass, looking forlorn. David pours himself a coffee and fills a glass with ice and the sun tea Patrick likes. David slips on the pair of old sneakers Patrick keeps by the door. They are both a size 11, which would be more useful if Patrick had any shoes David wanted to borrow.

David walks out onto the porch and calls out to Patrick. “Good morning, honey.” David’s voice is a little creaky still but loud enough that Patrick turns and gives him a halfhearted wave. David was hoping Patrick would be enticed by the iced tea, but he shows no signs of moving. David sighs and takes a sip of coffee before heading across the lawn. 

“Got this for you.” David hands Patrick his iced tea and rubs the top of his head a little. “It looks pretty good out here.” It does look pretty good, there are signs of life everywhere, if not any actual vegetables. The carrots look sparse—but about half are sprouting little green tendrils, and a few tomato plants are several inches high. David can’t tell which is which on the rest but it looks like something is happening in each section. It’s not flourishing, but it’s certainly not a failure.

“I just thought—there are so many variables. How do you know anything is right. Look. Only about half my seeds are growing. Fifty percent is failing.”

“Well, I didn’t know I married the valedictorian.” 

“ _ Clearly _ you haven’t.” Patrick gestures vaguely toward the garden. “And I wasn’t. I was ninth in my class.”

“Well, okay. That’s a fun new fact about you, but I don’t really think that matters.” 

“I mean—nothing matters. This is basically a shutout.”

David takes a sip of coffee before speaking, trying to figure out why Patrick still insists on talking in cricket terms after all these years. “Perhaps, we can take this to the porch?” He tries.

“You should go, I need to figure out what I’m doing wrong.”

David can’t help but roll his eyes. At this rate, Patrick’s going to be declaring  _ everything’s ruined  _ like a drunk girl in college who just found out it’s too late to get Taco Bell.

“Here.” David hands Patrick his coffee before sitting down  _ in the grass _ next to him. David takes his coffee back.

“Okay, so what have you gotten wrong?” Clearly David’s not going to be able to use a cheery tone of voice and trick Patrick into thinking he’s doing amazing, so he settles in to listen as Patrick talks it through.

“It’s fine, I know you don’t care about this.” Patrick takes a sip of his iced tea, even managing to make that look sulky.

“C’mon. Tell me.” David gives Patrick’s shoulder a little nudge. “You listened to me strategize my eBay bidding process on that Dries Van Noten sweater for like an hour the other week.”

Patrick gives a small smile and then launches into the most tedious monologue David’s ever heard, including that time an artist read the phone book at his gallery for 96 hours straight. 

**

After they finish eating dinner, Patrick heads back out to measure the tops of the carrots again. He’s done it every night this week, and then he immediately checks the book David had borrowed and subsequently re-checked out twice. David somehow doubts there have been any magical changes in the last 10 hours since they were at work. He’s considering buying carrots and planting them in the middle of the night, like some fucking Looney Toons character, just to put an end to this. 

Predictably, Patrick walks in a few minutes later, looking dejected. “Still too small. And some  _ wild  _ animal ate my most promising tomato plant.”

David tries very hard to school his face. “Oh no! That doesn’t sound very good.” It sounds very, very bad, and like David will be opening the store alone tomorrow while Patrick installs a three-tiered security system around his precious vegetables.

“It’s  _ not.  _ It’s not good at all.” Patrick sighs, his shoulder dropped. Even his ears seem downturned. “I’m sure by the weekend, the local menace will have ruined everything.”

Patrick’s always had a dramatic side but lately, it’s ever-present.

“I can—open tomorrow if you want to fortify the perimeter.” David giggles a little but then Patrick's pout intensifies and David presses his lips together. “Okay, clearly we’re not in a joking mood.” David pats on the sofa next him, and much to David’s surprise, Patrick comes over and climbs into David’s lap.

“I just—” Patrick buries his head into David’s neck instead of answering him.

David runs his hand up and down Patrick’s back. “I know. It’s okay.” David presses a kiss to the top of Patrick’s head before continuing, “Why don’t you take the day tomorrow, to stay home and put up a fence, and I’ll take the store”

Patrick makes a small noise and buries his face further into David.

“Or do you want me to just run in and hang a sign? Do you need moral support?” David offers.

Patrick shakes his head.

“Okay, well how can I help?” David has learned the hard way that it’s best to ask Patrick what he needs when he’s like this.

David keeps rubbing Patrick’s back, like maybe he can just dissolve this whole problem like cold cream on an ill-advised smokey eye.

“Go back in time, and stop me from planting a garden in the first place.”

David bites his lip, glad Patrick can’t see the laugh he’s holding back. “Let’s look in the book for wild animal protection measures and then tomorrow you can take care of that. I can handle the store and you can buy me tacos for dinner.” Patrick loves a plan, so hopefully this will propel him into a less dramatic headspace.

“I guess. That makes sense,” Patrick petulantly admits into David’s skin. Well, David will count that as a win, especially since there will be tacos.

**

“Honey, I’m home,” David calls out later that night—half for effect, half because this is his life now. 

“Back here,” Patrick's voice floats from the back porch.

David drops his bag by the doors and heads straight to his husband. David can’t tell yet if the fence was a success, if Patrick’s going to be pleased or pouting.

“Hey, babe.” Patrick winds his arms around David’s waist and kisses him, soft and sweet. 

“Missed you today,” David murmurs against Patrick’s lips. He kisses him again before pulling back slightly. “How’d the security installation go?”

“You know, not bad. I’m cautiously optimistic.” Patrick looks tired but pleased.

“Want to show me?” David teases because he knows Patrick absolutely does want to drag him across the yard and explain every step of the process.

Patrick blinks slowly and nods, like it’s the hottest thing David’s ever said to him, and then he’s kissing David, with a little bit of tongue, sliding his hands up David’s back. “Yeah, I want to show you.”

David takes a step back and holds out his hand for Patrick to take. “Show me.” 

“Oh, and I ordered from Rosie’s and she’s gonna deliver it herself. Should be here in about 20 minutes.” Ronnie and David helped Rosie design her restaurant, and David also called in a favor from an old artist friend for some custom art for the job, for which Rosie’s undying appreciation comes in the form of the occasional delivery and extra guacamole. 

Patrick drags him across the lawn and David’s actually impressed. “Patrick, I’m impressed. This looks—” David trails off because he was about to say ‘ _ like someone who knows what they’re doing built it’  _ and that will not go over well. It does look like it will protect the precious vegetables, which is a relief.

“Yeah?” Patrick still looks pleased, even by the half compliment. Patrick starts explaining what he did with posts and wire and hammering and David nods along for a few minutes.

“So I also noticed that you had wine open on the porch for us.” David gives a little shimmy.

“There is wine on the porch. Let’s go.” Patrick wraps him up in a hug, kissing his neck, featherlight, in the spot he always does. “Thanks for letting me take the day off, means a lot.”

David smiles. “Well, we have Caprese to protect.”

“You know I’m not growing mozzarella,” Patrick jokes.

“But you  _ could _ be pouring me wine,” David teases back, raising an eyebrow.

Patrick laughs and pushes David back toward the house. “Okay, David.” 

**

David wakes up to small kisses across his shoulders, the kind of kisses that mean it’s too early and Patrick’s trying to trick him into being awake. “Mm. Can I help you?”

Patrick giggles into David’s neck—he knows he’s been caught. “You can.” Patrick keeps kissing his way back and forth. “Love all these freckles, just for me.”

David grins and reaches back to put a hand on Patrick’s hip. The idea of his freckles being Patrick’s is somehow both silly and accurate, a secret buried beneath his sweaters that only they know about.

David finally opens his eyes. “What time is it anyway?”

“8:15,” Patrick whispers into David’s skin, resuming his slow kisses.

David groans and takes his hand back from Patrick’s hip. 

“I know. It’s just—I was going to pick the carrots and I thought, maybe you could come with me.”

“Won’t they still be in the ground, safe, until a respectable hour.”

“Well, the book said if they stay in the ground too long they can rot, and what if I waited too long? I wish I had x-ray vision. I don't know what I’m doing. How can you tell if you can’t even  _ see _ them? This isn’t really fun anymore,” Patrick grumbles. David wonders if this was ever fun for Patrick.

David hardly thinks that two more hours will harm the carrots, but clearly this is no time for logic. Or sleep. He wiggles back closer into the warm solid line of his husband.

“Will you wear the tight shorts?” David can’t bring himself to say the word jorts aloud, but he knows Patrick will know which pair he means.

“That can be arranged.” Patrick presses his hips into David.

“Will the carrots persevere for another hour?” David tries.

“I guess, probably,” Patrick says carefully.

David groans and rolls over. “You really want me to get up right now?”

Patrick swallows. “We can wait.” His face tells a different story, though, and he looks pained, like he’s imagining his carrots getting murdered like an extra on Criminal Minds.

“Ugh. Let’s go. The  _ tight  _ shorts. The carrots deserve it. And also you're making me coffee.” David throws the covers off both of them. 

Patrick's face lights up. “Thank you.”

David sighs dramatically, because two can play that game. He does smile a little as he watches Patrick pull on his jorts, though. He changes into pants he can wear outside before heading to brush his teeth. He sneaks a glance back to watch Patrick head downstairs, and it’s really unfair how good his ass looks in them.

David can't be bothered with anything this early, so he grabs one of Patrick’s baseball caps and drops it on his head instead of putting on sunscreen and follows the sound of Patrick’s very on-key humming and the smell of coffee down to the kitchen.

David accepts a mug of coffee from Patrick, noticing the sprinkle of cocoa powder on top. 

“What would it take for you to wear my hats all the time?” Patrick ducks his head to kiss David’s cheek under the brim.

“The request has been noted, typically a decision will be reached within 90 days.”

“I’ve had credit card disputes resolved faster.” Patrick laughs. “Let me know if there’s any additional paperwork, I do very well with paperwork.”

David takes a sip of coffee. “Mm you do well with coffee, too. I shall generously factor that in.” David takes another sip. “I believe there are some very impatient carrots that need tending to?” 

Patrick grabs his tea with one hand and rubs the small of David’s back lightly with the other, guiding David to the door. He nods gravely. “Very impatient, and potentially in mortal danger.”

David startles out a laugh. “Well, we better get going then.”

They start to make their way across the yard, and David can tell the closer they get to the garden the more nervous Patrick is getting. He pauses and holds up an arm for Patrick to tuck himself under. “You know, it’s very impressive, all of this. You grew things. You should take a minute and be proud.” He turns and kisses Patrick’s temple.

“Okay, David.” Patrick doesn’t look convinced, but at least he’s not arguing his failure. 

They cross the rest of the yard this way, with David’s arm around Patrick, and the hot beverages slow their progress but they eventually make it.

“Here, give me.” David holds his hand out for Patrick’s mug. Patrick hands the mug to him, handle first, because  _ of course _ he does. “Go on then,” David tries to make it sound encouraging and attempts to arrange his eyebrows reassuringly.

Patrick takes a deep breath and blinks slowly a few times before turning to unlatch the fence. Well, half-asleep David was  _ very correct  _ insisting on these shorts, which tighten even more in all the right places as Patrick bends over to pull a carrot from the earth.

The carrot is… decidedly not hearty. Patrick’s lip immediately trembles out. 

“Well, that’s okay. Let’s try the next one.” David is using his  _ get Mom out of the closet _ voice.

Patrick bends over and pulls another equally sad carrot out of the ground. David exhales slowly, not sure what to say. Patrick pulls a third carrot out, marginally better, like a first-grader grew it, not a toddler.

“I don't even know what I did  _ wrong.  _ Everything I guess,” Patrick huffs dramatically as he pulls another carrot out. 

“Okay well. I don't think  _ that’s  _ true. Maybe. We should ask—the book.”

Patrick whips his head around and glares. “You were  _ not  _ going to suggest Ronnie.”

David presses his lips together and shakes his head vigorously. He was absolutely going to say Ronnie. “No. The book.”

Patrick narrows his eyes, and David decides to change tactics. “What are those big orange flowers?”

“What—oh. Those are zucchini blossoms.” 

“Ooh—we can stuff those with ricotta and fry them. I used to get them at Barbuto.”

“David.  _ Supposedly _ they’ll be zucchini. We can’t just eat them.” Patrick looks irate  _ and _ petulant now, this tactic was a complete failure.

“Right, sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Eat the blossoms,” Patrick mutters and shakes his head.

“The tomato plants look good,” David tries as a last resort. He feels helpless, he wants so badly for this to be a success for Patrick.

“They don’t.” Patrick stomps back to the house, leaving David to try to figure out how to close the fence while still holding two mugs, and wonder why he bothered getting out of bed for this.

**

Patrick spends the rest of the morning hiding in his office, so David decides to go see Stevie. When he comes home, he’s bearing gifts, and Patrick is still sitting sullenly at his desk, though he’s changed into sweats and the hair at the back of his neck is damp like he just got out of the shower.

David sets down the olive oil on the desk and leans in to press a kiss to Patrick’s head. “Let me in.” Patrick scoots the chair out and David gets on his lap, swinging his legs awkwardly over the arm of the chair, wrapping his arm around Patrick’s neck.

Patrick tilts his head back for a kiss. David happily gives him one, then another and another, and Patrick relaxes under him with each soft kiss.

“Missed you,” Patrick murmurs against his lips.

“Missed you, too. I bought you a  _ very  _ fancy bottle of olive oil for your tomatoes.”

“I don’t have tomatoes,” Patrick grumbles.

“The  _ point  _ is that you  _ will have tomatoes _ , and they will be worthy of a nice cold-pressed olive oil,” David answers, his voice soft from the kisses and Patrick’s hand sliding under his sweater.

“We’ll see about that.” Patrick’s brow furrows and that won’t do at all. David kisses him, gentle and teasing, until Patrick’s mouth is open and his hands are everywhere, and the kiss is something else entirely. When David pulls back, Patrick’s brow is smooth.

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, David.” Patrick shifts, and David stands up, then Patrick’s pulling him toward the bedroom.

**

David wakes to Patrick flinging himself on the bed and then Patrick’s kissing him all the way awake, his lips so soft against David’s. Despite the startle, it's a nice way to wake up, better than Patrick forlornly delivering him coffee in bed. Patrick keeps kissing him, lazy and sweet, until David’s awake and kissing back, parting his lips and reaching a hand up to fit on the back of Patrick’s neck. 

Patrick gentles the kiss and pulls back. “Guess what?”

David finally opens his eyes and Patrick’s smile is incandescent. “You love me? I’m your favorite husband?”

Patrick laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Well yes, both of those,” Patrick kisses him again, full of intent and love and David wants to live in this moment forever. He’ll take a hundred days of pouting for a lifetime of these kisses. Patrick pulls back again, leaving David dazed and breathless.

Patrick pulls his hand from behind his back and his mouth does that perfect upside-down smile as he reveals a single picturesque tomato. David is so happy to see tangible and edible proof that all this was worth it, he could cry.

David grins, he’s never been happier to see a vegetable masquerading as a fruit in his whole life. “I knew you could do it.” David  _ did  _ know, Patrick’s the most competent person David knows.

“I—can’t believe it.” Patrick looks awestruck by this feat, and David pulls him in for a quick kiss.

“We should stop at the store on the way home for mozzarella.” 

Patrick nods. “Yeah. We can pop open that olive oil. I didn’t—I was worried we weren’t ever going to get to.”

“I wasn’t worried, honey.” David says, leaning to press a quick kiss to Patrick’s cheek.

**

They do stop after work for mozzarella and when David insists on burrata, not just regular mozzarella—if an occasion ever calls for fancy cheese it’s this—the tops of Patrick’s ears turn a pleased pink. When they get home, Patrick makes a beeline for the garden and David heads to the kitchen to open the wine.

Patrick comes in, practically skipping, holding two more tomatoes and a fistful of basil. “Look!”

David hands him a glass of wine, and they softly clink them together. “You did it, Patrick.” David takes a second to really look at Patrick, to somehow make him understand how proud David is of him.

“I— _ we _ did this David. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Patrick’s face is so relaxed and fond and full of love, David can barely believe it’s all for him.

David shakes his head and tips it back for a second, before taking a sip of wine, gearing himself up for sincerity. “You did the hard part. I’m really proud of you.” He gives Patrick a half smile and then turns to get the cutting board, he’s not sure he can take much more  _ emotion _ without crying. “You should do the honors. Grab the—”

Patrick grabs the chef’s knife, from the set Marcy and Clint got them as a housewarming present. They had been appalled at Patrick’s Ikea knives when they had brunch at Patrick’s apartment the morning after the surprise party.

Patrick rinses off the tomatoes and is poised to slice into when David cries out _ ,  _ pausing the proceedings.

“Can we not yell while I’m holding a knife?”

David grimaces apologetically and waves his phone in the air. “We should record the moment, is all.”

Patricks laughs. “Okay, David.” He starts slicing, this time without interruption, revealing a very photogenic and juicy looking red center. David gets a couple of good pictures and one boomerang of Patrick’s forearm flexing that belongs in the Met. 

Patrick keeps slicing and David pulls out a platter to start arranging everything, fanning out a couple of tomato slices, so that it looks like something they’ll want to eat and not scattered like an edible junk drawer. 

By the time they’re done, it looks as good as any Caprese David’s ever seen, including the one he ate poolside at a villa outside of Lucca. David tears some basil up to scatter across the top and Patrick follows along, drizzling the good olive oil over everything. Patrick finishes it all with salt and pepper and then watches as David snaps a couple of photos of the final product. “For your parents.” David shrugs.

Patrick nods and gives David a small smile. “Let’s eat outside on the porch,” he says, picking up his wine and the platter. David grabs the plates and forks, his wine and then after a second, tucks the open bottle into his arm before following Patrick outside. 

David watches Patrick take his first bite and he wishes he had a photo of that. Patrick looks pleased and proud as he swallows down the literal fruit of his labor. “So, worth it?” David asks.

Patrick doesn’t answer, just feeds David a bite and  _ oh.  _ The tomato is warm and bright and sweet, but still acidic enough to stand up to the cheese. David swallows it down, smiling. “Worth it,” he whispers, unsure if he means the produce or just the look on Patrick’s face, but meaning it either way.

**

A couple of weeks later, David comes downstairs after changing into a pair of joggers and finds Patrick sorting through the rest of the vegetables he picked when they got home. He slides his hands across Patrick’s shoulder and drapes himself over Patrick’s back. Patrick tilts his head for a quick kiss.

“A few more tomatoes were ripe, and a zucchini.” Patrick’s voice is reverent and soft with disbelief at the abundance in front of them. Currently, there are almost a dozen tomatoes, a bowl of sunny yellow cherry tomatoes, and five huge zucchini. It turns out David was right, they should have eaten some of those flowers. 

“You know, at lunch today, Ronnie said,” Patrick’s body tenses under him as he continues, “she didn’t get any carrots this year either—she thinks it was too warm too early. Something about a  _ cold-weather crop. _ ” Tywla had just deposited his BLT during that portion of the conversation and he was only half-listening. 

Patrick relaxes again, leaning into David, wiggling his hips to get closer. “Huh.” 

David figures that’s the best he’s going to get, but can’t resist adding, “Maybe we should have her over one night for bruschetta.”

Patrick spins around in his arms, still holding a tomato. “David,” he warns.

“We just have too much,” David grins at his adorable, annoyed husband.

“My mom was telling me how to can tomatoes, we’ll be fine.” Patrick says decisively, like that’s ever stopped him.

“I personally would rather have Ronnie over than boil jars.” David smirks as Patrick’s mouth falls open. “Oh! But your mom did send me a zucchini bread recipe. Maybe we can make it tomorrow? I can watch.”

Patrick’s face breaks into David’s favorite smile, the one where he looks like he feels as lucky as David does. “We can do that.”

David thinks that maybe the pouting was almost worth it, just to see Patrick this happy now. He leans in, kissing Patrick’s smile, laughing into it, until neither of them is laughing anymore, until Patrick’s mouth is warm and insistent against his. Patrick fumbles to shove the tomato onto the counter as David is pressing him against, and then the tomato is on the floor and Patrick’s hands are on his hips.

“It’s okay, we have plenty,” he murmurs. 

David  _ mmms  _ in agreement and kisses him. They have everything they need.  
  
  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Noble Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931639) by [NeelyO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeelyO/pseuds/NeelyO)




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